this time machine

C.D. Jones

sand is the trick

let it creep into your

sneakers and you

are sixteen again

on the edge

of a decaying log

next to him

Galveston’s salt breeze

pressing against you

turning to him

with the unlit thing

it is your heart

but also a sparkler you know he can light

because his friends hotbox the boys’ room on Fridays

the boy with the dark brows and lazy eye

does not use his pearly zippo but takes your hand

the sparkler hissing in his kindles your dull one

you think you are late this is the first time you touch a boy—him

your heart sparks to crackling life revealing your flush

you are ten years ahead of this moment

but pain makes a great time machine

things that ignite do wither

you will catch him holding

a girl at the shoreline

and you are sixteen

your heart a saffron thing

under careless flame

don’t worry

there is a quirk to

your time machine

this memory is just

a memory of a memory

you are back in the now

searching for

firework chemtrails